


Bird Problems

by Sinnykins



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Cloaca, Egg Laying, Oral Sex, Other, Oviposition, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:32:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sinnykins/pseuds/Sinnykins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So it turns out that Davesprite got a little more "bird anatomy" than Dave previously imagined...but who is he to deny his alternate self a little assistance when he develops a few "problems" that need laying?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bird Problems

**Author's Note:**

> I ACTUALLY DON'T REALLY LIKE THIS FIC THAT MUCH but since so many people seem to enjoy Davesprite with a cloaca laying eggs I suppose I'll put it up here as well...

It had been a while since he’d last laid eyes upon the orange visage of his charming sprite-self, and although he believed the guy was more than capable of taking care of himself (Davesprite still classified as a Strider, and therefore it would have defied the laws of physics for him to be incapable of wicked cool feats worthy of poetic verse), Dave believed it fell under his list of righteous, self-promoting duties to occasionally check up on the bird kid. …Well, he mostly just didn’t want to admit that sometimes he required the wise words of future him to serve as guidance. There was a fine art in burying his real motive behind several carefully constructed layers of extensive metaphor and “irony”, hiding it so deep beneath a stinking pile of verbalized (or in some cases textualized) horse shit so as to cover up anything too personal or revealing.

 

Not that Davesprite wouldn’t be able to anticipate and carefully unwind every word to get to the kernel of truth hidden inside, plain and simple, but they both understood it was in the other’s nature to be dodgy. So they humored one another and traded impartial ramblings that had fuck all to do with what they actually wanted to say.

 

Right now a steaming mound of bull fresh from the bird’s mouth was just what he needed, overabundance of words and all.

 

Dave figured that he could afford to return to his apartment for now – he could feel all the jumping through time beginning to take its toll on him, anyway, and it would provide a relatively safe place to summon his sprite and have a nice trademark Strider chat. But as soon as he let himself in he became acutely aware that something was up; the place was a little messier than usual, definitely more so than he had left it. For one thing, there were headless, deflated smuppets lying around, their once plush rumps now sagging little lumps swimming in a sea of neon fabric. At first he just stared blankly, comprehension refusing to slap him upside the face and send what remained of his sanity packing with a good dose of “this is beyond fucked up”. It was a frustrated, pained caw that snapped him out of it, and despite a growing sense of _no Strider you do not want to know what crazy shit is going on in this place_ he found his feet carrying him to the source of the uncomfortably familiar noise.

 

Davesprite was in his room, as he had been dreading. What he hadn’t really been expecting was the haphazardly constructed pile of crap gradually growing in the center of his cluttered personal space. The orange “him” had laid out a structure of (ungutted) smuppets in a neat circular shape, then draped Dave’s sheets over them and tucked it around the colorful bodies to create an outer raised edge. In the center was the mound of stuffing, although the padding work didn’t look quite as careful as the foundation. Placed on top of the fluff was Dave’s pillow like some kind of feathery throne, and lo and behold, an equally feathery asshole was occupying it.

 

At least he didn’t need to bother summoning the guy.

 

His sprite was not quite the spitting image of composed royalty befitting the seat he had procured for himself, however. Davesprite was half-laying on top of the pillow, half propped up on his elbows with his tail curling and uncurling like some sort of writhing orange serpent. The sword usually bisecting his middle had been removed and lay discarded nearby so he could double in on himself – and then Dave realized he was shivering, the soft rustling of all those feathers on his partially folded wings more noticeable than the tremors running across the line of his shoulders. While there didn’t seem to be any blood, pale yellow sweat was beading on Davesprite’s skin. It was obvious that he was still trying to maintain some level of straight-faced indifference, but to Dave his discomfort was written plainly in the hitched line of his lips. It was making him feel uncomfortable in turn.

 

“Dude what the hell’s up with the whole damsel in distress motif; I’m not really digging it. Not that you aren’t infinitely more qualified for the role than most of those broads on the silver screen by sheer irony factor alone, but this seems pretty unironic unless I missed the memo or something. In which case, enlightening me any moment now would be pretty damn awesome of you.” It wasn’t the flatness of his voice that communicated his slight anxiety, but his choice of words. He stood there in his own doorway looking awkward with his hands shoved in his pockets and his shoulders slumped forward as if to preemptively defend against the onslaught of less than desired knowledge he was expecting.

 

“Nope you haven’t missed a thing. All caught up Mr. Strider, just be prepared for the test on Wednes--…s-shit….” The usual returned banter faltered and with it came the slightest constriction around Dave’s windpipe, making his next breath feel forced.

 

“I’m pretty sure I missed something big, like on the entire fucking chapter scale because I am completely lost right now. Think you could fill me in _before_ the alien bursts outta your chest, cuz it’d be cool to rescue my blankets and crap from the inevitable Hollywood-style blood spray threatening to turn the only usable source of bed fittings in this damn apartment into a toxic glowing mustard stained mess.”

 

But when Davesprite didn’t answer with much more than the slightest keening noise, Dave finally tore himself away from his nonchalant leaning against the doorway in favor of taking slow, even steps across his room, his feet so familiar with the pattern of wires crisscrossing along the floor that it hardly took any conscious thought to pick his way around them. The moment stretched on, pure horror movie gold really, before he found himself at the edge of the circle of smuppets. He took a brief half second to compare the setup to some kind of weird puppet-satanist ritual, but the thought was more than ridiculous (and also kind of terrifying, not that he’d admit to that) so he brusquely brushed it from his mind in favor of studying the trembling orange form at his feet.

 

For a few minutes the only thing breaking the silence between them was the sound of Davesprite’s harsh breathing, occasionally forced out so shallow and thin as to make some kind of breathy half-bird noise that caught in his throat and sounded too close to, “I’m about to keel the fuck over” for Dave’s comfort.

 

Just as he was preparing to inquire about his sprite’s current state of being again, his eyes fell upon a rather…interesting sight.

 

What had previously been the flat, unbroken expanse of smooth orange tail was now sporting a very noticeable fault in its surface; around where the point of union between abdomen and leg would create a dip, where the anatomy responsible for the immature joking of adolescents everywhere would normally be located on someone actually possessing legs, a thin line of cleaveage had appeared between two gently sloping sides of orange “skin”. And to Dave’s horror, there was a hint of yellow fluid leaking along that line and it removed any doubt about what the new development could have been.

 

“Holy shit dude when I said ‘damsel in distress’ I did not mean it in a literal sense whatsoever. How the hell did that even get there because I sure as fuck don’t remember it being a thing before.” Dave’s face felt warm, but behind his shades his eyes were glued to the area like it was a Grade A train wreck and he was a classic deer in the headlights, as if all muscles had seized up in shock and all he could do was watch his demise approach him at 79 miles per hour in a blinding vision of orangeorangeorange _yellow_.

 

“Yeah, well…looks like some other birdy bits came along for the ride, bro,” Davesprite ground out between clenched teeth before his wings flexed and a shudder followed the length of his spine. He was biting his tongue to hold in a squawk, Dave could tell, but it was still half-formed and came out choked and distorted.

 

Another stretch of silence, another period of Dave observing, lacking even the vaguest hint of a clue as to how he should handle this discovery. Something was beginning to form in the back of his mind, a slow tugging, nagging sensation, an idea that was as of yet missing the words to make it solid and real, but remained fluid and surreal. It taunted him with the prospect of understanding, of a leap of logic he felt Davesprite was expecting him to make.

 

“It’s a fucking cloaca, not a—“

 

 _Then_ it hit him full force.

 

“Are you shitting me? Jesus Christ.” He wanted to recoil in his denial – not because he was sickened, really, but just because he was kind of sick and tired of being on the receiving end of so much weird shit. “Not literally though, I guess in this circumstance it’d be more correct to say are you eg—“

 

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Davesprite hissed, his voice increasingly strained and impassioned by his discomfort. For once Dave immediately shut up without retort and continued to watch in a slightly sheepish silence. It was brief; this time future him couldn’t hold back his squawk. “God damnit they’re coming. Think you could quit gawking like a sheltered school girl for a few seconds and help me out here?”

 

Well, he had expected it’d come to something like this. With a sigh he began to remove the black suit jacket, fingers flicking open buttons with practiced ease that made him seem calmer than he felt, and he took his time folding it up and setting it aside before rolling up the cuffs of his shirt sleeves.

 

“Not sure what you expect me to do, other me. They call me Dr. Strider cuz I got a PhD in swag; can’t say I know a damned thing about avian young expulsion.” But despite any of his portrayed reluctance, he wasn’t enough of a heartless ass to leave an alternate him in need. To be honest, any form of perceived protest was most likely derived from an apprehension of screwing things up.

 

Dave put it aside for Davesprite’s sake and carefully lowered himself to his knees amongst the pile of smuppet fluff. As soon as he was situated, hardly even a moment after, an orange hand snatched his own and _squeezed_ and it finally occurred to him that wow, maybe this was like a hundred times more uncomfortable for the sprite-him doubled up on his pillow and shaking like a leaf. Guilt snuck past his carefully constructed defense of nonchalance, the squeeze echoing around his chest, and he found the motivation to swallow his pride. Although there was a bit of uncharacteristic hesitance in his movements, he eventually placed himself behind Davesprite and pulled him half into his lap, mindful of the wings so as not to press them too hard to his chest. Pale fingers splayed across orange skin pulled taut over identical abdominal muscles, and with his chin hooked over Davesprite’s shoulder he found his nose partially obscured by soft orange feathers. While there was no struggle or protest, he could feel every little shiver, every slight tensing of the body against him. Having no idea what else to do, he merely ran his hands along said muscles in an attempt to soothe them.

 

“I’ll take care of the expulsion part…you just catch the bastards. Do not under any circumstances attempt to drop them like they’re hot or I swear I’m going to peck your god damn eyes out.” The strain in Davesprite’s voice was changing a bit, the pain morphing into something approaching exertion, accompanied by the peculiar quivering of muscles in his lower abdomen. Dave kept his hand in place out of morbid curiosity and fascination towards the evolution of the movement beneath it, the slow tensing, clenching, the shaking of effort. He became increasingly aware that despite Davesprite’s efforts to keep his breathing steady, it was often cut off, short bursts of shallow gasping marking the full-body shudders following the relaxing of his tightly coiled muscles.

 

Feeling particularly useless, Dave attempted to assist him by breathing deep and even near his other self’s ear to set the rhythm for him to follow. Clearly it took significant effort, but Davesprite was gradually able to fall into line with him, and a little of his tension began to fade. The going seemed a little easier after that – how long he sat there cradling Davesprite to his chest, he didn’t know for sure, but each second ticked by and marked progress he couldn’t see; he _felt_ it, though, each subtle change in composure suggesting they were closer to their goal.

 

Then Davesprite was grabbing his hand, back arching and tail coiling around the pillow beneath him like some sort of plush anchor.

 

“Shit—fuck—past the point of no return now, here comes Bird Baby Express cart number one and—j-jesus just _catch the damned thing_.”

 

Dave couldn’t resist a soft snort, but he obeyed nevertheless and slid the hand _not_ currently trapped in Davesprite’s iron grip down the length of his body in preparation. Provided, all movement froze when his gaze landed on the graceful curve of bright orange shell beginning to spread that slit in Davesprite’s tail. It was slow and gradual, more of the neatly formed oval becoming visible with each trembling push, and glossy with a thin sheen of yellow. The egg was a bit bigger than he thought it was going to be, too, and that pang of guilt threatened to seize him again – but his sprite was squawking at him and he snapped out of it fast enough to move his palm down in time to take it from Davesprite’s trembling body as it slid the rest of the way out. He couldn’t suppress a shiver at the warmth, the weight, and the slickness smeared across the smooth surface. Dave held it like he didn’t know what the fuck to do with the thing, like he couldn’t quite believe he was holding something almost as thick as his fist…that he’d watched it come out of this alternate him and found it…

 

…oddly enticing.

 

“Oh my god put that thing down and pay attention, holding this shit in is hard as hell.” He was snapped back to reality, to the realization that Davesprite was still trembling quite a bit and breathing harder still.

 

“Wow, fuck, there’s more?” There was a note of exasperation to his tone but he wasn’t actually bothered by the idea, he found. Dave gingerly set down the egg amongst the smuppet stuffing and returned his hand to its position in front of that slit, now covered in more of those yellow juices.

 

“What kind of lame ass bird only lays one fucking egg? Strider way or…n-no way at all.” Again his voice was hitching; this time the egg came much faster, with much less pushing, but it was still a gradual spreading process. Dave’s eyes remained glued to it, drinking in the sight of slowly stretching flesh and the shell like fluorescent porcelain. He accepted it without hesitation, but couldn’t quite resist taking a moment to rub the slightly tapered end against the very entrance it had just slid out of. It earned him a violent shudder, a chirp, and he watched Davesprite’s tail change its grip on the pillow.

 

“Must be hard when you’re so damn sensitive,” he chuckled into his other self’s ear, and his lips pulled into a slight smirk at the soft hiss he got in return.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re getting off on this shit,” was his eventual shaky retort. Another egg was already beginning to crown and he set down his current handful to accept it, not willing to be quite so mean. He did, however, try something other than just waiting “patiently” for it to come out. Fingers resting on either side of the slowly appearing egg, Dave began to gently rub along the spreading skin. Davesprite jerked against him, and this time the noise he made, albeit very soft, was significantly less birdlike.

 

“You won’t hear a peep outta me; you just keep pumping them out, I’ll just keep catching them.”

 

The rubbing definitely had an effect. Davesprite was almost constantly tense against him, constantly shivering, and his breath had faltered back into something unsteady and uncontrolled. All that cool composure for naught, and while part of him hated the thought of it all being so easy to unwind, there was another part of him that was just plain fascinated with the sight of it. He couldn’t honestly tell if it sped up the process, but there was something really fucking kinky about getting to feel him spread, about watching the egg slide out between his fingers. It was getting messy fast, the whole area already smeared in yellow and running down his tail, and now the stuff was on him as well. The inexplicable urge, the desire, the _need_ to taste suddenly overtook him, and this time his gaze was filled with a strange sort of hunger as he cupped the egg in his hand. While Davesprite took a moment to calm down and breathe, Dave set the third egg aside with the others before slipping out from behind his sprite.

 

“Woah, where the hell do you think you’re going?” Came the breathy demand before he’d had the opportunity to get very far. Dave just offered him a sly look as he slid around front, positioned himself so he was aligned with Davesprite’s lower abdomen, and ran his thumb over the puffy line.

 

“Not going anywhere man, just chill for a sec and trust me.”

 

The shiver he got in response was answer enough, and he unceremoniously leaned down to run his tongue from end to yellow-smeared end, the flat muscle covering as much of it as he could get at. The upward dragging motion successfully covered his tongue in whatever the bright colored substance was, but he didn’t hesitate to swallow it down. It was tangy, salty, somehow very much _him_ despite the fact that he was not the part-bird boy squeezing out eggs like a giant orange hen. All in all the sheer kink factor behind what he was doing was enough to make him relish the flavor, and combined with the sound Davesprite made, he was soon lapping at his other self with a bit more eagerness than he would have liked to admit.

 

It was pretty damn narcissistic when he thought about it, but at the moment he couldn’t bring himself to give a single fuck.

 

Orange fingers tangled in his hair and squeezed, tugged, _pushed_ , and in return he found himself applying more pressure with his tongue until he surprised himself with the sensation of wet _hot_ walls surrounding the muscle. But he didn’t pull back – couldn’t pull back, because Davesprite was holding him down and simultaneously pressing his hips up against him. The length of his orange tail shakily unwound from the pillow and rapidly curled around Dave’s waist instead, holding tight, pulling him closer, demanding more. How could he deny himself?

 

“F-fuck…” Davesprite groaned, his head falling back. “Shit, dude…there’s another one…I know I’m irresistible but can’t you cut it out for like—oh god.”

 

Somehow the prospect of another egg waiting to come out while he had his mouth on him was sexy, was enough to make him dig his tongue in deep, to twist it around and lick and flick and rub and press until his nose was buried against him, his thumb holding him partially open to give him easier access. He was vaguely aware of something spreading Davesprite’s slit a little higher up, definitely not where the eggs were coming from. But his attention was completely focused on the fact that he could feel the smooth surface of the next egg with his tongue. He teasingly kept it inside him, continuing the fervent ministrations and disregarding all the yellow getting on his face, dripping down his chin, smearing on his cheeks and the pad of his thumb. Hell, he was bold enough to rub his tongue over the egg itself and that seemed to _really_ make his other self shudder.

 

It was getting insistent, though, so he reluctantly pulled back, licking his lips as he went. Dave was kind of surprised to see a bit of an erection poking out of the topmost portion of Davesprite’s slit, as if the thing had also housed his dick the whole time. With the casual raise of one eyebrow, he allowed his slippery fingers to brush across the partially exposed surface and found he enjoyed the twitch it gave in response.

 

“And you were accusing _me_ of getting off on this. That’s a textbook case of kitchen ware throwing down color labels, man.” But it didn’t stop him from trying to coax more of Davesprite’s cock out, or from rubbing the fingers of his other hand over the messy line.

 

“If you’re doing that—god damnit, I can’t…” That strain was present more so than ever, the clenching, relaxing, pushing of muscles so pronounced so as to effect the entirety of his body. Dave figured he was being a classic asshat and making it hard for him, but some part of him was getting sick pleasure out of the way he looked, out of the way he responded when _they never responded_ , and he just wanted to encourage encourage encourage.

 

“Just push,” he said simply, and as if to demonstrate he nudged his fingertips just past that entrance. Davesprite gave a breathy curse and then the egg was there, pressed to his fingertips and trying to force its way out. Not willing to end it just yet, Dave took his time rubbing his fingers along it, around it, even pushing on it to sink it back inside him a bit. Davesprite gave a loud caw of protest, bordering a full out screech, and so he simultaneously curled his hand around his cock and _stroked_. That silenced him fast, orange walls rippling around fingers, around the egg, and then he was clearing the way. It took no time at all for the sphere to come out, so fast that he had to rush to catch it, and no sooner had he set it aside before he was plunging his tongue right back in. Davesprite’s tail tightened around him, squeezing, almost painful, but he wasn’t about to stop – he was going so far as to thrust the muscle inside of him now, the wet noises almost as loud as his sprite’s breathy moans and chirps. The orange erection was pulsing and twitching in his hand, fully exposed and hardened by now and dribbling even more yellow. Everything was yellow, everything tasted of him, of _them_ , and yet he couldn’t get deep enough…couldn’t get enough of that flavor smeared across his tongue.

 

He was so preoccupied with his mouth and his hand, with stroking licking rubbing, that he didn’t notice Davesprite had performed some leet action with his tail and gotten his pants open at some point. No, it wasn’t until he felt the warm appendage curling around his own throbbing dick that he was aware he was exposed, and the moment he took to admire the action was extremely brief. It was a little clumsy, a little too tight, a little too fast, but the friction was delicious nevertheless, and the fact that he had his face buried against Davesprite was enough to completely offset the mistakes made out of desperation. The excitement and arousal from his own actions was augmenting the stroking – the fact that it was Davesprite’s tail only seemed to make it that much better – and he found that not much was needed to build that coiling mess of heat inside him. If anything, his other self wasn’t faring much better; he could feel the tensing of muscles, namely the squeezing around his tongue as he wiggled it about.

 

The grip on his hair was tightening, tightening, that orange back was arching, the heat emanating from orange flesh became almost unbearable, and then he could feel the spasms as they rocked through Davesprite’s body and _god there was so much yellow_. It hit his face and covered his hands and he probably had it splattered across the pristine surface of his shades but fuck if he cared, his own orgasm was triggered moments after by the sheer _sensation_ of feeling this alternate him release in such excruciating detail. It was blinding, intense, crashed into him and sent him reeling but he didn’t stop moving his tongue or his hand even once; sheer willpower alone made him draw out every little shiver he could get, even as he himself was overwhelmed and gasping against Davesprite.

 

It subsided, leaving behind a calmer sort of warmth, a pleasantly floaty sensation that contrasted with the heavy ache of his muscles from the position and exertion. He slowly pulled away and Davesprite let him, his fingers slipping from his mussed hair, tail slowly uncoiling from around him. He noted with some satisfaction that it was streaked with white – at least he’d left a mess of his own.

 

They sat there in silence for a little while, both trying to catch their breath and come to grips with what had sort of just… _happened_ in the heat of the moment. The yellow staining his skin was cooling, but he couldn’t be assed about cleaning himself up just yet…even if he was probably coated in the stuff. Some awkwardness was starting to settle in, though, and he glanced away from Davesprite’s face to study the pile of four substantial orange eggs, still perfectly glossy and equally perfect in shape. He decided to take the plunge and try to make things a little more normal between them again. After all, he did still need some answers – the very reason he’d been looking for his sprite in the first place.

 

“…Dude, I’m starved. When do we get to eat this massive omelet?” There was a hint of a smirk on his face again, combined with the subtle lifting of eyebrows.

 

But all he got in response for his valiant effort was a loud, disapproving screech.


End file.
